


The Ill Omen of Jacob Frye

by funeralfiona



Category: AC: Syndicate, Assassin's Creed
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-05-01 19:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5217542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funeralfiona/pseuds/funeralfiona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of her fathers passing our "reader" is brought to the city where she is told she has been marked for death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to London

**Author's Note:**

> I am writing this live and I will post the parts as I finish them in one sitting. If that doesn't sound like a disaster than I don't know what does. This is heavily inspired by all the Victorian romances I've been reading.

A warm breeze wafted up from fire heated backstreets and coiled with chilly air around Jacob’s ankles. It seemed to entice him even higher on the rafters and smoke stacks as he spidered upward for a superior vantage point. He settled on a decorative steeple, hoisting himself up with a single huff and content inhale, then surveyed the living veins below and beyond. The sun was gone and the temperature had dropped by a significant leap. The city made of stone and metal retained none of the heat the sun sent down that day.The silky chill ran across Jacob’s face and charged him with a crisp sense of excitement, like the first step into icy waves. Lamps had been lite and a new breed of life was waking while the previous ushered themselves indoors to warm hearth fires and cozy candles. Voices of bold speech and seedy whispers where rising all over the old city and a small smile of affection could not be helped. He marked his route with eagle eyes and grappled across roof tops, taking bold leaps across rafters and blindly landing on uncertain ledges. Each risk was carefully decided and each success was clearly noted. So many possibilities, so many outcomes, so many sounds below him, and vast sky above him. He landed safely again and renewed his verve, his target waited ahead with no options to their name except death. 

You were becoming disorientated. Never before had you seen buildings so closely built or so many lamps lining streets. Your eyes, so accustomed to the darkness of the countryside, felt big in your head as they tried to take it all in. The carriage pressed forward at a much slower pace than it had in the country roads. People wandered into the streets dodging horses and carts, sometimes there was a loose animal, and sometimes the street just narrowed down to a congested clot of people and carriages. You couldn’t imagine why your relatives would be content to live here, even briefly. It had been explained to you in a letter so gently worded that your uncle, of whom was very successful, lived year around in a large manor well outside the city overlooking moorlands. But seeing as your young cousin has come of age you would both be kept at the city house to ferried to public events and parties. You had read the words and let your mouth twist in distaste. They intended to marry you off as second best to whomever your eligible, and very rich cousin rejected. Mrs. Margret, your dear neighbor had fretted excitedly as she helped you pack your meager belongings into a sheet. “Imagine the finery, the jewels, servants even! And a good husband, surely in London they will find you a good husband!” If Mrs. Margret had been young and unattached you would of gladly sent her in your place. Margret had a head for these things...jewels, parties...finery. In your girlhood you did as well, imagining princes and large ballrooms, but the martyrdom of your young adulthood brought reality on like shroud of darkness to your imagination. For a year you nursed your father and for a year you watched him die. Your Uncle, so far removed from your life and upbringing had offered to take you in like a charity case. As if you couldn’t be content living alone in the country, no, not a member of his esteemed family. You would be taken in, dressed properly, put on show, and married. Then your dear uncle would take the thanks and pomp that came from rescuing a poor girl with no prospects. You were very sure he would never admit to this and claim he wanted nothing but the best for his late brothers daughter. Even so, your stomach turned.  
You couldn’t take the passing scenery anymore so you looked skyward through the window. The night sky was dark, contrasted by the citywide lamps. You frowned, even the stars had no place here. Overhead a darker shape zipped by and you started. The quick mass hit the lamp light and a man, darkly dressed, scaled the roof like a cat and disappeared. You stared as the carriage went by and he did not appear again. Soon the building was gone from sight all together. Frozen with perplexity you sat back. Had he been flying? Was this a common occurrence? Surely you hadn’t been the only one to see him. Margret had warned the city had many places for devils to hide but your refused to believe she spoke literately. 

You blew through the formalites of meeting your uncle for the first time since infancy, and your aunt, and their charming daughter. You and her stood opposite each other, her a child of eighteen and you an adult at twenty-two. Her made fair by indoor activities and you darkened by sunshine. She was not unkind to you and she squealed with excitement, insisting she take you to your new room. She also insisted you call her Lonnie because it was cuter than Loretta. Lonnie directed one servant to carry your twisted sheet of belongings and the other to bring refreshment to your room. At the top of the stairs she paused with a gasp. “I am sorry, I don’t remember your name. What is your name?”  
You smile at her childish spontaneity. “Molly.” You replied simply and Lonnie raised a brow in question.  
“Molly? That’s very Irish. Are you part Irish?” She seemed to take no care in how she spoke but you couldn’t be mad with her.  
“Yes, my mother was Irish, though my name scarcely has any relation to that. My parents simply preferred the name Molly.” Lonnie’s face showed she disagreed but she said no more and ushered you to your room.  
The rest of the evening consisted of settling in, having your ear talked off by Lonnie, and being fretted over by maids trying to make you comfortable. By the time your room by vacated it was late and Lonnie had the last word.  
“You’ll like it here. Tomorrow we will go and have you fitted for dresses and pick out jewelry! That’s the good thing about staying in the city house, more shopping!” She clapped her hands together once in declaration at the victorious thought. As she made for the door and bid you good sleep you stopped her with a call of her name.  
“Lonnie, I must ask but do not laugh.” You eyed the window and the world outside as she gazed at you with wide-eye attentiveness. “I saw something strange tonight, from the carriage...”  
Lonnie bent her brows in concern. “What did you see?”  
“A man...” You continued, suddenly feeling self conscious. “He looked like he was flying. He landed on a roof and climb like a alley cat.”  
Lonnie appeared serious, as serious as her girlish face could accomplished. She looked about the room and stepped closer, as if the walls had spies.  
“Father says we can’t talk about them.”  
Your eyelids fluttered with shock and your heart gave a hiccup in your chest. “Them? Who are they?”  
Lonnie ignored your questions and whispered more. “And Mildred says if you say their names they’ll hear and sneak into your room!” She leaned back and spoke louder. “Isn’t that frightening?!”  
“But who are they?! And who is Mildred?”  
“Shush!” She hushed you in a hurry and ran to the window. Looking over the roofs and streets she drew the curtains shut. Her caution was starting to seem silly but clearly you had seem something rare and alarming. When she came back from the window you asked again, a stern command in your tone. “Lonnie, who are they?”  
Lonnie dropped into a seat by the fire place with dramatic exhaustion. “I do not know. Father wont say. He tells me nothing. He insists it’s not feminine to know everything. Mildred says they are bad luck, ill omens. There is more fighting in the city, the bank had a scare, fires, violence at the station, people being killed...”  
A hand went to your chest to soothe your heart. You had been told the city can be dangerous but this was...It took another while to get Lonnie to bed. She checked the window lock and put more wood on the fire to “keep them from coming down the shoot”. Before leaving the room she had a dark and frightened look in her eyes. "I hope you haven't been chosen by them. I hope it was just a passing moment." She left then, seeming more haunted than what was warranted. Where 'they' really so notorious?  
You lay in the darkness feeling wired, your imagination blossoming after a long winter of harsh reality. The way Lonnie spoke made ‘them’ seem like phantasms, creatures of myths that stole girls away to make them brides. But what you saw seemed very much like a man, flesh and brute grace moving atop the world with a feral purpose. Your realized in soft inhale that you wanted to see him again and you were unafraid.


	2. Green is the Color of Ambition

    Jacob brushed a cart casually then went about polishing the apple he pilfered from it. He didn’t necessarily need it but he was idling, blending into the populace in a lull of tasks. He surveyed the street and the alleys he passed. His Rooks were everywhere, content in their power but watchful and ready. The Blighters had been greatly reduced here but kicked back like dying goats. Sometimes they stomped out of the shadows with a yell, still intent on believing total victory was a street brawl away. Jacob bit into the apple with satisfaction and stopped to eyeball a market, hoping to find a Blighter to lure away. Kicking them while down was the only way to make them learn. He was half-way through his apple when he found a target. A blighter in faded red speaking sternly at a shopkeepers booth. The merchant spoke quickly and in short bursts, clearly flustered and hoping for a non-violent solution. Jacob tossed the half-eaten apple in the air a few times to gauge its weight and the distance. Finally, with a smooth arch of his arm the apple was sent sailing across the market right into the back of the gang members head, his derby hat flipping to the ground as the spilled forward into the pop-up shop. Jacob chuckled and waited for the man to regain his composure and make eye contact. The Blighter gave a shout of declaration and started his way. Turning away he removed his tweed cap and tucked it into his coat. Ducking low he produced a collapsed top hat, flicked his wrist then placed the now upright hat atop his head. Righting himself he moved into a crowd, caught the arm the first unoccupied lady he spied and leaned in intimately, keeping the hat rim low over his eyes.

 

    The city in the day was an entirely different state of affairs. Drab and dirty in some areas but still wholly more positive and alive. Lonnie had loaded you into a carriage mid-morning, along with the notorious Mildred-an elderly maid with a pension for wild tales-to shop for your new wardrobe. Lonnie insisted on bright colors and pastels, you insisted on deep blues and greens and thankfully won. At the final stop you were cohersed into changing into a pre-made green dress and so was forced to weather Mildred’s tall tales and Lonnie occasional gasps of fright as the gown was tailored to your size before leaving. Mildred spoke freely and her mind. She had earned that right by loyalty and old age. She laughed and proclaimed you had seen a dark sign illustrating your mortality. You played along as best you could to satisfy them both by announcing you’d say prayers before bed and keep the window locked. “Locks mean nothing to them!” Mildred proclaimed with excitement.”They can ghost them away!”

“Surely that is an exaggeration.” You spoke with sense a practicality in your voice but Mildred would have none of it.

"I cannot exaggerate what is the truth! They appear as birds in the daylight, dark rooks, white doves...devious things."

And it was this way until the errand was finished and you were made to walk about a market in a brand new emerald dress while Lonnie picked out sweets for the brief ride home. You felt self conscious and hindered but no one stared or commented as you touched your neck in its nudity. Your hair had been placed up in an adult fashion with dark ringlets let to fall around your shoulders. The jewelry at your collarbone felt heavy and loud in its style. Lonnie squealed at Mildred about something and you turned away from them, trying to disguise your awkwardness as interest elsewhere. Looking at nothing in particular you scanned the booths from your spot. The market felt familiar in it’s homey bustle and you wanted nothing more than to wander and talk freely with the merchants.You step away from Lonnie and Mildred to ask the opposite booth about their produce when your arm was caught up at the elbow by a strong hand. The man leaned in close and spoke quietly.

“It’s alright...walk with me, won’t you?” You stiffened and made no sudden movements, only stepped forward in a smooth and steady pace. He leaned and pulled, guiding you gently through the crowd like a gentleman, keeping his head near yours. His grip was like stone, but not cruel and he spoke in brief intervals.

“Lovely weather, isn't it? A good day for the market.” His voice had lofty confidence to it and country boy clarity. His hand moved to your lower back and his other took hold of your arm again but with less pressure. A cacophony of dark thoughts ran through your head but they all came back to omen of your arrival. Was this him? Has he come for me, really? Tilting as discreetly as possible you tried to spy his face but in an instant he tugged you close in warning and you corrected yourself. As you both stepped into the main street a man in red, looking agitated and furious, scanned the crowds with purpose. Your kidnapper leaned in once more and tilted the brim of his hat even lower. Part of his face came into the view of your periphery, a sharp chin, full lips in a coy smile, and encroaching muttonchops. A breeze curled up from a sloping alley bringing in close the scents of his skin. The prominent smell of sweat and milky warmth mingled with a muted spice. The intimacy of it was intimidating, as was his touch as his hand slide away from your back and he disappeared with nothing but wave of the hand into the alley below. Two sharply dressed men in green tail coats melted out of the crowd and followed closely behind. You stood alone, staring into nothing with your mouth parted in lost words. Twice now you had been left bewildered by strange happenings and it was only your first full day in the city. If you returned back to Lonnie and Mildred now they would make you out to be a dead woman walking and you'd still know no more than when you arrived. In your mind you could not deny that fate was sending you a message, it was either a challenge to move forward or a warning to turn back. You breathed in deep and caught no trace of his scent left on the air, but you picked up the edges of your dress regardless and began ascending the dirty stone stairs. Turn back to droll hum-drum and urban legends? It would not be so.


	3. Rooks and Turtledoves

In the city house your uncle owned you waited out the quiet moments before bed with mortal solemn. The fire had grown small and dinner sat in twists within your stomach. The day had exhausted your cousin into a quick bedtime, after her hot chocolate of course, and left the eventide to your reveries. You stared into the base of the dying fire with a doomed calm as the day ran through your head. The emerald dress that had partnered his green vest so finely lay draped across the bed like a funeral pall. Perhaps you were being too romantic but the evening felt astrologically marked. For a year you feared for your father and the inevitable nothing that would come with his passing. When he coughed, wheezed, wobbled, or refused to eat you feared for him. Finally, after so long, you feared for yourself. You held the notion with refreshed pride that now you could worry for no one and fate had taken the liberty to scramble your senses just enough to make it all happen. Glancing behind and out the black window your eyes adjusted just enough to make out the shapes of roofs and chimney stacks. You imagined a dark and lithe form moving among them with purpose. Rising from the chair you went to the bed and flung back the blankets. The dress slid with a heavy frump to the floor as you put out the lamp. 

-Earlier that day-

Your move into the alley did not go as planned, not that you had a plan, just a moment of fancy that you might be spirited away into a world of dark shadows and possibly magic. To your misfortune your movements were hindered by five layers of petticoats and stiff shoes that made dull snaps at the stone beneath you. At a landing you paused against a stone wall to look farther below and saw no magic nor a seedy underworld, just four men ready to brawl. The man in red, whom you assumed was the hunter, was actually the hunted and had been cornered by the two men in green coats. Only a few steps away and smiling with predatory contentment was your kidnapper, arms folded and leaning among crates.  
“I trust you wont let him run off, lads?”  
“No, sir!” They called in practiced unison and paused only long enough for the prey to cry out a curse before being assaulted with animal cruelty. You gasped at the ferociousness and clearly inhumane tact, nearly missing your kidnapper hoisting himself on to the crate. Feeling halted and suddenly very vulnerable you watched him scale up a wall with ease. Your heart seized in a moment of uncertainty. You desired to watch him go and witness the animal-like feat in the daylight, but something told you that fate would not be tempted to try for a second meeting. Your mouth hung open to shout but you had nothing to say. From a window he took a blind, flying leap at a overhang and swung there. A shock of adrenaline ran through you. How you would love to see that again and many more times after. Inhaling the musty alley air you called upon your courage. Where had your practicality and reason gone? Shouting out with a short command he stopped, half hoisted up the roof with wide boyish eyes staring past the lapels of his coat.  
“I said stop there!”  
He stared longer, his boots digging into the side of the building for support. “Me, Miss?” He questioned with genuine curiosity and great amusement. You huffed, trying to seem insulted and only felt awkward. You were ill-prepare for this conversation.  
“No, the pigeon next to you. Yes, of course you!” To your frustration he turned to the pigeon in question, paused, then replied again with a coy smile on his lips.  
“You sure, Miss?”  
Your face turned red and you were sure it appeared so. You shook but your voice remained stern and steady. “Please, Sir, I have business with you.”  
He climbed the rest of the way up and adjusted his attire. “I have business elsewhere, I’m afraid.”  
Your hands went your hips in defiance and authority. “So much business that you had time to seduce and watch street fights?”  
“Seduce?” There was humor in his voice and from at your distance you could see his eyebrow raise at the accusation and his eyes examined you without shame. You chose to ignore his questioning and made clear your intent...now that you’d found it.  
“You took me away from my companions, you will see me returned.”  
His smile remained but the whole expression changed in a way you could not rightly pinpoint. It held so many emotions in one you were not sure which was most concerning. The amusement was there, a playful tenderness, but the steadiness of his eyes on you felt dangerous and invasive, as if he instantly knew all your most private thoughts and knew exactly how to use them. You broke the spell by turning away in a huff to the unnecessary task of adjusting dress pleats and brushing the ringlets from your shoulders.  
“Well, are you going to escort me or not?”  
A small laugh, more like a defeated sigh responded. “Who is doing the seducing?”  
You looked back in time to watch him bend at the knees and free drop onto a overhang, a wall, then land on the ground with a heavy sound a step away. You leaned but resisted the temptation to dart. Ignoring his last remark you straightened yourself, unsure if your posture was even correct, then hooked his arm to be escorted.  
His sinister look was gone then, replace by virile overconfidence. He was certainly multifaceted, that was for sure. Perhaps that was part of what made him so intriguing. As you walked arm in arm back up the stairs, the picture of fine coupling, you rolled through your head all the things that could of turned dark or still could. Your life had become so uprooted you no longer had proper control of our emotions. You were half-kidnapped then made demands of your kidnapper without caution. But there was something to be done here, a lesson, a reward, an opportunity...you just needed to find it.  
“If you are going to abduct ladies you should at least give your name.” You tried to sound authoritative and sure. He glanced your way, still mildly amused by your aggression. When you were sure he’d say nothing he answered simply “Jacob.” His informality did not escape you. It was welcome among all the mystery.  
“Molly.” You matched. Jacob...  
You both melted into the street bustle and headed back towards the open market, the smells of it wafting down the walk way.  
“So, Jacob...” You eyed the shop windows as you walked, still holding his arm gently. His gaze was forward and casual. “What is that you do? What is your trade?” In the reflection of the windows his face became animated with knowing as his head bobbed in thought and mouth curled with secrets.  
“Odd jobs, favors here and there.” His eyes moved to watch the street as if it made him seem less guilty of the illicit activities he hinted at.  
The windows ended and his face gave way to iron fence-line You turned your gaze forward.  
“Any of these favors keep you out late?” You felt his eyes.  
“If it happens to get dark.” He admitted with some pause and plenty of coquettish intent.  
Your mind rattled with Lonnie and Mildred’s horrid stories. Jacob, a name of biblical origin, sounded so sweet to the ears and conjured up images of a God-fearing farm hand with kind eyes. The man that smiled at violence and jumped roofs at night eclipsed that sunny thought in darkness. You thought of your foreign bedroom, a locked window, and a dark hatted form at your bedside. Since the hour of your arrival you had been relentlessly haunted by his image and myth. For bad or for worse you had been placed in the lurking path of something mysterious and nocturnal. The thought brought confidence. There was uncertainty and fear but the direction was narrow and very precisely picked. You turned up your face to speak to Jacob candidly and called fate on it’s bluff.  
“Do you climb into bedrooms, Jacob?”  
The pace of his steps never faltered, but his brows lifted high in bewilderment. He had a scars you didn't notice before and his eyes where very dark.  
“Why do you ask that?”  
“Do you?” You pressed with serious conviction.  
The smile that worried you crawled back, his eyes glinting at something unseen.  
“I have been known to climb through a window time and again.”  
You went quiet then, no closer to unlocking his confidence or guessing the right password to his world.  
“Oh, nothing to say to that? Don’t get shy on me now.” He steered you into the market and paused with you among the throng. “Now, where are these companions you spoke of?” Looking to you for instruction he blinked with sarcastic repetition and insult. You ignored his arrogance with brooding.  
“What are you, Jacob?”  
An expression of great mischief passed over his face, bringing back that boyish sincerity, but whatever he preferred to say he omitted. “A man, last I checked.”  
Your mouth puckered in suspicion as his teasing made you bold again. “I think you are more than anyone would dare to guess.”  
The deadpan, invasive stare returned with a sly turn on his lips. “And I suppose you dare to guess.”  
His eyes were heavy and you turned away to make a show of scanning the crowd. “I’d prefer you just said it.”  
“You rich types are all take and no give.”  
The accusation hit you like a cold wash. You turn back to him with genuine shock in your face and he seemed pleased with victory. For a whole year your needs mattered little and you become a nurse with no past or future. Only a mission to keep a sick man comfortable until his last day. So nameless and soulless you taken on a new role like a dress-up doll. In his eyes you where exactly as he saw you...a rich man's daughter. The speed in which you had been transformed had been so great you never even felt the tremor. You saw something within Jacob but the wall between the classes did not allow him to see much in you. You tried to explain with haste and childish urgency.  
“But I am not...!”  
He let go of your arm and stepped back to survey you with mock astonishment.  
“Oh, you’re not?! Let me guess, that is your ugliest dress? Perfect for a dusty day at the market! Very sensible of you! And that jewel..?” He ducked in close to examine it, rubbing his chin in thought. You leaned away with a hot face and he continued on. “Yes, I suppose looking at it now it would only feed one hundred families for a year, not three hundred.” He moved finally to the thick ringlets of hair draping across your shoulders. Plucking one lightly he let it fall. “And how brave of you to step out the house with such an appearance! I am sure you will have to vent to the ladies during tea.”  
He was enjoying in his cruelty but there was a legitimate bitterness in his eyes that kept your gaze low. Your own unspoken judgment of your uncles generosity was being place upon yourself and it was ironic. In the silent moment he allowed his words to sit. You opened your mouth to try once more to explain yourself and was interrupted by a high voice wailing your name.

“Molly!” Lonnie waved over the crowd and hopped, her pale hair bouncing in the sun. She looked rushed and fearful with Mildred looking almost disappointed you’d been found. For sure she had concocted a conspiracy theory to explain your absence to Lonnie and had been debunked.  
Turning back to Jacob he gave a not-so-courteous bow and began to move back towards the carriage jammed street. As he passed the last stall a sense of finality hit your heart. A cosmic opportunity was literately walking away. Worse yet, he had made his judgment clearly and quickly. You had dabbled with something dark and the dark was not amused. You remembered in your youth reading about a death god that required acknowledgment and sacrifice. You turned back, finding Lonnie closer and a unfavorable lifestyle closing in. For the second time that day you picked up the edges of your dress and trotted after Jacob without ceremony. You caught him by the fabric of his sleeve. “Wait!”  
His eyes rolled around his head and he gave a ungentlemanly grunt of frustration. “What is it now?”  
“Will you come to my room, Jacob? Tonight?”  
An elderly woman with a black bonnet gasped as she walked by and it fell on deaf ears.  
“I beg your pardon?” His voice piqued with irritation and sharp features narrowed with suspicion. “Why?”  
“Because I think you are very dangerous, Jacob.” You were slightly breathless and words felt difficult to conjure.  
He paused to blink in cautious perplexity, as if there was a plot to be seen here. “Yes, that sounds very logical. I think you should return to your family now, Molly, before you hurt yourself.”  
You shook your head at that and put up your hands to signal pause. “I assure you I am of sound mind and heart. Please, let me say what I must!”  
He said nothing then, only stared in dangerous silence, patience and interest gone behind still eyes.  
Taking a deep breath you began....  
“My name is Molly Turtledove. I’ve spent the last year in my fathers sickroom in our cottage in the country and he died a week past.”  
His dark eyes narrowed, trying to find a hidden meaning, or perhaps it was his way of expressing condolences.  
“I grew up in the country. I’ve never owned anything nicer than wool. When I ran or played I picked up my skirts indecently to make myself faster. My mother taught me letters and writing but died when I was eleven. My father taught me how to kick boys the right way.”  
You took another breath and Jacobs head tilted in waiting. His face was less harsh and scrutinizing.  
“My uncle, Jonathan Turtledove, is very successful. I don’t know what he does but he has more than one home. He demanded I live in London with his daughter until I as married. I do not want to be married! But when I arrived, just yesterday evening, I saw you!” You took another breath.  
“Did you?” Somewhere you had said something he liked and it showed in the subtle glints of his eyes.  
“Yes, I did. It was dark and you where flying over the roofs. Lonnie says you climb into bedrooms and Mildred says locks don’t matter.”  
“Lonnie and Mildred are correct.”  
You didn’t acknowledge that directly, only continued with a heavy feeling of fear weighing at your chest.  
“Please climb into my bedroom.” The statement felt damning yet self fulfilling. He returned your bold statement with simple but warranted question.  
“Why?”  
You did not know why. Perhaps you just wanted to go where he went, see what he saw. Perhaps you wanted to leave this life in an dramatic and romantic fashion that only a shadowy night prowler could give. Perhaps you wanted them to make a myth out of you.  
“I have a deal to make with you but now is not the time and this is not the place. Please, I can serve you well.” You spoke with sincerity and a confidence that was different than before.  
“Molly! Please don’t move anymore!! Please, Molly!” You turned to be received into Lonnie’s soft arms. “Oh Molly, I was so scared! Who was that man? Where you lost?”  
Your head darted back to find Jacob gone. Instinctively you looked upward and saw only sky.


	4. A Man Called Púca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wait for the enigmatic Jacob, but is the mystery more satisfying than the truth?

You awoke by instinct, not by disturbance. It was a skill honed by necessity over the last year of your fathers life. Rising every few hours, especially in the final months, you fueled the fire, helped him drink or relieve himself, added blankets and checked the shutters against the elements. The times he mistook you for your mother were the hardest. H would clutched your hand or stroked your hair and referenced private moments you knew nothing of. 

Sitting up now just as you would have you eyed the fireplace with experienced senses. It was glowing dimly and still crackling with weak embers. The room has lost some of its warmth and a slight chill ghosted at the skin. Flinging back the duvet you slipped to the floor and gasped suddenly as your toes dipped into a pool of cold. Side-stepping and inspecting closer you found your new dress and its fine fabric shining in the dim light. You gave it an agitated flick of your foot and stepped over to the fireplace. At its base you knelt comfortably and began skillfully feeding the fire. You hands moved as if this fire had been in your cottage on any given night and not in the lovely fireplace of a wealthy merchant that called himself your uncle. The behavior brought comfort. Was a week and a day too early for nostalgia? At what point were you allowed to desire for more simple times? Perhaps you aren’t as strong as you thought. 

In the center of the house a large clock chimed the hour. It’s last bell echoed and faded away like the dying notes of a brooding piano. You glanced at the flicking shadows around you as the fire found its strength again. The nooks hid nothing and the window remained undisturbed. The night was passing, the home was still, and Jacob was just a man. A man of secrets, there was no doubt in that, but still a man. Rugged, sure, and powerfully selective of his associations. Whether these associations were wisely picked or moves of passion you would never know. He hadn’t shown. But what part of you thought he would? The part that grew weak in the bones at your mothers passing, and collapsed under the weight of your fathers corpse. Your mother spoke casually of fairies and their tricks, even feared angering them in all her soft-spoken superstitions. Vaguely you recall talk of a dark king that was sometimes beast, and sometimes man. You longed for your mothers whimsy. You had it for a day or so, it was wild while it lasted, but reality had plans that wouldn’t be compromised. 

Standing and straightening your gown you brought a chair closer to the fire and sat in contemplative silence. Maybe there was something to this luxurious lifestyle. Maybe it would not be so sorry and dull. It was a new beginning after all. Surely your inevitable marriage would not as utilitarian as you dimly imagined. Perhaps he would find you beautiful, intelligent, and want to fuel that brightness with love and freedom. Perhaps he could be persuaded to move to the country? These thoughts spun about your head, weak like soap bubbles in a breeze. This could not be all that is left. Resignation had never been your lot. When the boys ran too fast in the field you just ran faster. When your mother died you simply adjusted to not need one. When you father became sick you did not send him away or call a nurse, you became a nurse. A new challenge, a modern monster of traditional roots called ‘Social Normality’ barred its fangs. The hard center of it all was that your poor self needed to be cared for and only a man of politically significant position could do so. That was unacceptable...but it would be so. You remained by the fire until you lids began to drop once more, lulled by the warmth and dim glow. Placing yourself back into bed you sighed with finality and let yourself sleep. 

In the still early hours in the darkest part of morning you dreamed briefly of your cottage hearth. A black and hatted silhouette observed its heat silently.  
It is not your father.   
The thick and lively words of your mother called for you from a distant room but you do not stir. Your father hovers above your bed and asks of the visiting darkness. Your mother answers with assurance but your father is not convinced Púca exist. She must be mistaken.  
You close your eyes because you know who it is. You do not need to be awake for this discussion. You roll sluggishly into their voices and flutter open your eyes to another dreamscape as steam billows like hell breath across your bed. He looms above you without movement. Hazy fires back-light his features but the smell of men and cloves gives you confidence to his identity. With words thick with youthful arrogance he thanks you and you awake up cold to the chaos of screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short Short Chapter! I am so sorry I have taken so long but it was for a good reason. I was not sure where I wanted this to go but now I am sure. Hopefully I will get the more action packed chapter out soon. Our county-loving heroine, you, is in for some adventure.


End file.
